In the mirror,
I stare at my opposite twin
who stares back at me.
She is beautiful, yet worn;
she is mysterious, yet ordinary.
And there is no way of talking to her
other than through her image of being
(No words need to be spoken
for her lips to tell a story).
Her dark brown eyes
scream, “I am in here. Please.”
And the day finally arrives
when she becomes me.
It is she who walks the halls
with a big smile and perfect braids,
while I am trapped in the mirror,
“I am in here. Please,” I scream.
“Let me be free.”
Through the lens,
I become a beautiful version of me:
the glitter covers the circles under my eyes,
my hair is curled,
I’m dressed in white.
The camera says to smile big
and I tilt my head a little to the right,
place my scarred hand behind the light,
cross my ankles very lady-like,
and I feel like a knotted necklace—
too tightly wound
to ever be securely found again.
On the page,
I am gorgeous
with dark brown eyes and perfect braids.
My eyes become a cave—
only I can faintly hear the echo
of my inner self lost behind a photograph.
“You look so good,” they say,
and yet they read me like a banned book—
something of intrigue, but not of understanding.
Their seeing eyes are only desperate
For the visible lies of the hashtag near a name:
a name only six letters in length,
it becomes lost behind
the clamoring labels of overwhelming strength.
In the world,
I am smart.
I am short.
I am kind.
And yet those are merely words
of what I am—not who I am—
in the eyes of the blind.
I am a math nerd
who finds solace in working algorithms.
I am an English fanatic
who fawns over the beauty of words.
I am a Disney fan
who cries in belief of a perfect world.
I am a rocker-chick
who feels empowered by the bass in my chest.
I am a band geek
who feels the emotion of each beat of silence that comes next.
I am a volleyball girl
who craves the rush of a win.
I am an optimist
who always smiles when the light gives way to sin.
I am a sister
who finds love in the small things in life.
I am a daughter
who carries the meaning of family with pride.
I am an inspiration
for a rebellion against
the constant whisper of labels we see.
I am nobody in this world
if I am not me.
In the skin,
I am only a mirrored reflection
of the soul within.
I can hear it screaming.
“I am in here! Please!”
And in my mind,
I set it free.